CAT Scan Chronicles
by Smiledodatango
Summary: Randy Orton... three inches tall... green tights and tutu. Need i say more? One shot. Please R&R.


**CAT Scan Chronicles**

Hello, welcome to my mind. My name is Ashley, and I'll be your hostess for this evening… morning, afternoon, whatever. It doesn't really matter to me. You're here, your reading this, who cares what it looks like outside. Some of you may already know me through my other fictions, but if not, well… I guess that's okay, for now. (Glares) Either way, we're both here, you're reading, I'm writing, it's a nice balance, don't you think? Well, now you are probably asking yourself why you're here, and the answer is simple. You clicked the link, but if that's not enough to satisfy you I'll continue with my story.

My story starts like most, sitting at my computer bored to tears when an inspiration finally hits me. In this case, it came in the form of a small green little fairy. Or at least I thought it was a fairy. It turned out to be a three inch tall Randy Orton in green tights and a tutu. I realized this after he had dropped several clues during our conversation. Which went a little something like this.

"Hey Ashley".

"Huh, what, who's there"?

"Down here".

"What? Okay, why the hell are you sitting on my keyboard"?

"Because my feet hurt I AM THE LEGEND KILLER and I felt like sitting down".

"Your feet hurt? You have wings, use them".

"I would, but they're plastic".

"Oh, makes sense. So little green fairy, what do you want? I was trying to come up with a new fiction, and seeing as you're on the keyboard, YOU'RE IN MY WAY"!

"I am not a fairy. I AM THE LEGEND KILLER! And green was the only thing they had left in my size".

"Oh, I guess Short n' Small just isn't what it used to be".

"Your telling me, and I had to wait forever for someone to give me a dressing room and…"

"Um, yeah, hi. Could you, I don't know, get to the point"?

"Geez lady, they were right, you ARE pushy. Oh and by the way, I AM THE LEGEND KILLER"!

"Okay, I think I got it the first time. They who"?

"Up there. Points up at the sky".

"What, the man on the moon sent you"?

"No, he doesn't like me anymore since I killed him. Because, you know, he's a legend and I'm…"

"The legend killer. Yeah, yeah, we've heard the speech".

"Well anyway, the muses sent me to help you with your story".

"Oh, the muses sent you. Wow, that makes PERFECT sense".

"I knew you'd understand".

"(Rolls eyes) So, what about my story"?

"You are going to write your story about me".

"Excuse me".

"You're going to write your story about…"

"I heard you, I just thought you were kidding".

"No, why would I kid about a thing like that"?

"Oh who know, because it's stupid".

"Why would you say that"?

"Well, lets see. Yes, everybody here's my newest fiction. Its about a three inch Randy Orton in green tights and a tutu".

"Yeah, doesn't it sound brilliant"?

"Good lord, even in micro form your cocky as hell".

"Can't help it, I was born perfect".

"Right, and I'm Mary Poppins in disguise".

"You are, well could you please tell me where I can find Ashley because I really should be talking to her about this".

"You're a little idiot".

"Whatever just write my story okay"?

"Sure, I'll write it as soon as you remove your tiny ass off my keyboard"!

"Oops, sorry".

I watched as little Randy hoped off the keyboard and up onto the monitor. He sat down and cleared his throat preparing to tell his tale.

"Comfortable? Can I get you some 'fairy' juice"?

"No thank you. I'm fine. Are you ready"?

"Yeah, sure, why not? How many people can say they've had a tiny man dictate a story"?

"More than you think, but now I think we should get on with the story".

"Fine, talk away short stuff".

With that tiny Randy began his story. It started off with him being the most beautiful man in the world, and how all the women loved him and wanted him all to their selves. Needless to say I was once again being bored to tears. You'd think it would have been hard for a little green man on top of my computer to bore me, but he did it with ease. He continued on to about how he became the youngest champion in history, and how he defeated every opponent that came his way. He went back and forth between those two topics for about three hours. He described in full detail exactly what he wore every night, and even went into the reasons why he wore what he did. As he explained the different effect green and blue had on his eyes I silently cursed the muses, and tried to remember whether or not it was possible to kill them.

As he ranted about why he RKOed Stacy Keibler, which if your interested had something to do with her not knowing the difference between silk and satin, I found a way to entertain myself. I began to type random things that popped in my head. For example,

'Wow this guys is an idiot. This is a time were duct tape would come in handy. Hey, I can see up his tutu, he he. Oh, for the love of God, shot me!'

Unfortunately for me, he decided to proof read, and check on the progress we were making. Let me tell you, that was one mad fairy. I never thought someone could get so mad that their outfit could turn red. After he made me delete it and he calmed down a little he was able to explain that the outfit was mood sensitive. Climbing back on his perch he decided he should probably pick another story so I wouldn't throw myself off a cliff. He decided to tell me how he became a fairy. Apparently he used to be a full-grown man and was made a fairy through a curse. I could understand how someone could be mad enough to curse him. I myself was already planning to make a voodoo doll to his liking, but that's not the point. The point is, that this next story was a lot more interesting.

It all started out when he met the Undertaker backstage at an event. The then 6 foot 4 Randy tried to explain to the Dead Man why leather wasn't the best choice for him. He wasn't sure why Taker became offended. I personally think it had something to do with the fact that Randy said leather wouldn't hide the 'depends' lines, but Randy thought that idea was ludicrous. Undertaker, rightfully pissed, told Randy to take his fashion advice and shove it up his ass. Randy, feeling hurt, proclaimed the only solution was to challenge the Undertaker to a match at the biggest stage of the year. Undertaker accepted and needless to say Randy got his ass handed to him on a leather platter. The Dead Man was willing to let Randy walk away after that, but NOOO Randy couldn't do that. He just had to come back for more.

After using his father to pick up a victory over Taker Randy thought he had killed the legend of the Undertaker. What Randy forgot was that Taker's already dead. After crying to his daddy like the daddy's boy that he is they decided two on one was the way to go. True, they did win the casket match, but Undertaker is very comfortable in caskets sense he's ALREADY DEAD! Sorry, but Randy was getting on my nerves at that point. The little green freak kept jumping up and down yelling, "I'm the legend killer. I'm the legend killer". I had to threaten to use the fly swatter to shut him up. Anyway, back to the story. Taker came back, having enough of Randy's shit, turned his dad into a little farmer puppet and turned Randy into the tiny fairy that he is now.

Gotta love the Undertaker. Well, can you blame him? Anyway, Randy went on to explain that because there was nobody in his new weight class he had to look for work elsewhere. If you're curious he weighs about 5 ounces, but he's trying to lose one to keep his figure. No one really wanted to hire him. They all said he had an attitude problem. Well, it's true, he has the ego the size of a Hummer, and that's a lot of ego for a shrimp like him. Finally, he found work as a muse's assistant, and that's what brought him here. He's up for promotion, and if he can get me to submit this story he will become a certified muse. The only reason I'm doing this is because he's just so gosh darn pathetic. It's amazing; I think I might actually have a heart. That, and he also said he'd never leave me alone until I posted something, and I really didn't feel like putting up with fashion stories from a green tutu wearing freak for the rest of my life. Either way, he's finally gone probably torturing some other poor soul.

I know what every single one of you is thinking, or at least the ones who made it this far in the story. You think I'm crazy and should be locked up. You're probably right, but in my defense I woke up after he left with my face leaning on the keyboard. I looked up to find the screen full of the stuff that shows up when you press your face to a keyboard. Anyway, I've decided to consider all this a dream, or at least I really hope it's a dream. Don't worry I'm going to be calling my doctor shortly to request a CAT scan. Well, I hope you've enjoyed my brush with utter insanity, and please don't hold this against me. I have at least three other fictions up that are completely sane. Well… sort of.

/AN: I promise I was completely sober when I wrote this. Strange things happen when you're bored. For those of you who made it this far, I thank you, and I hope you'll stick around long enough to review me. Please no flamers, or I might feel the need to shove a fire extinguisher up your ass. I only own myself so theres no reason to sue me, but if you do, lets just say I of know someone who can stick your ass in a bright green tutu. So just remember that. Thank you for reading, and good night… morning, afternoon, whatever.


End file.
